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CHRISTMRS EVE 



AND 



OTHER POEMS 



BY 



C. MAURICE STEBBINS 





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SALT LAKE CITY 



Kelly & Company 



1894 



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COPYRIGHT, 1894, 
BY 
C. MAURICE STEBBINS. 



TO 

^Jxt ^uttu of Wnx gom« 
MY MOTHER 

H^^se ^Sznps are Ls«vir)al^ le)eaicatea. 



CONTENTS. 



HAGE. 

Christmas Eve, 3 

Evening on the Ohio, 17 

In City Creek Canyon 20 

The Sky seems Desolate 25 

Could I but Sing, 27 

In Harvest Time 29 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 31 

Autumn Notes 33 

Song of Autumn, 36 

Sown 39 

Love Lies A-cold 42 

At Even-tide, 48 

Pegno D'Affetto. 50 

Time 51 

The Poet's Prayer 52 

Sonnet . . 53 

Expectation 54 



CHRISTMES EVE 



AND 



OTHER POEMS. 



CHRISTMAS EVE; 



THE ALPINE SHEPHERD. 

I. 

There was a youth, a nursling of the mountains, 
Untutored in the ways of congregated men. 
His knowledge he had quaffed from the pure foun- 
tains, 
And the morning streams, and flowery glen 
Wherein his sheep he folded safe in pen 
At eve; from the near heavens, and the light 
Of day, the music of the jay and wren. 
And else he knew not: neither how to write 
Nor read; but in the life he lived he found delight. 



CHRISTMAS EVE 



II. 



No mother ever watched with quickening breath 
The varying struggles of his infancy: 
To her the gates of Hfe were gates of death; 
No sister's sweet companionship had he 
To temper and attune his childish glee. 
A father's was the only care he knew; 
A father's untrained knee the only knee 
To which he came for knowledge. And his view 
Was narrow as the narrow valley where he grew. 

III. 

When spring first touched the mountains into green, 
The warm sun resting on their southern side; 
And birds winged lightly to a northward scene, 
He, with his aged father as his guide, 
Would leave the sheltered valley and abide 
Thro' summer in the mountains, feeding there 
The 'oleating sheep until late autumn-tide 
Re-led them to their narrow vale to wear 
Away the winter on austere and scanty fare. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 



IV. 



And thus tar from the never-ending strite 
Of tho't; far from the eddying ebb and flow 
Of peace and misery, of death and Hfe; 
Far from the human calm and joy that grow 
From friendship; and the hopes and fears that strow 
The pachs of men, his spirit formed its view; 
Untrained by ought less pure than the first glow 
Of dawn, the water of the brook, or dew 
Of evening, and the summer sky's untarnished blue. 

V. 

And many a day he wandered forth alone, 
Beyond the limits of the meadow land, 
And gained the topmost peak, the first bright throne 
Of day, seeking in love to understand 
The things around him, and to find a hand 
Of fellowship in each least thing he saw. 
And thus his simple spirit did expand 
Until he felt spring up a natural awe 
Toward these, his kindred, knowing not their law. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 



VI. 



And hour by hour he stood beneath the shaggy rocks 
That rise in measured rows up to the sky 
That seems to softly rest its fleecy flocks 
Upon them; and forgot the sensual tie 
That bound him to the earth; for to his eye 
Appeared more than the visil:)le shape of things; 
More than the tho't of great or small, or high 
Or low. Faint echoes of retreating wings 
Were these; sudden to disappear as whisperings. 

VII. 

To move or speak the power was not his own. 
He might have prayed had he e'er heard of prayer; 
Yet did his spirit worship, and the throne 
At which it knelt rose thro' the trembling air; 
And in this usurpation all was fair. 
Loving and lovable; transcendent power 
Breathed in the least of creatures everywhere. 
Here littleness lived not; and every flower 
That breathed added a greatness to the passing hour. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 7 

VIII. 

Upraised to adoration of a Power, 
Whose name is unfamiliar to his lips, 
He lives, reflecting on the natural dower 
Of things about him. And the autumn slips 
To spring, and spring to autumn; time strips 
The mountains turn by turn of green and white, 
As drop by measured drop the water drips. 
The youth turned homeward on an autumn night 
To find a frosty form: its spirit taken flight. 

IX. 
Too deep the wound for words or flow of tears! 
There like a stony statue did he stand, 
Whose cold impassive face defies the years 
To work an equal change, or with the brand 
Of dissolution mar its mien. No hand 
Were sensitive enough to thaw the frost 
That bound his spirit more than to command 
That to return whence it had fled; life lost 
Her power; a death in life that death could not ex- 
haust. 



8 CHRISTMAS EVE. 

X. 

Calm was the night; the moon fair on the hills; 
But calmer was despair, until daj' broke 
At last, and melted up the frozen rills 
Of life; and then, and not till then, he spoke, 
Seeking his questionings in words to cloak: 
"What is this, father, holds thy dear lips dumb? 
And is this death, whose swift and fatal stroke 
1 ne'er have seen, save as it erst has come 
And led away a wandering lamb to martyrdom? 

XI. 

"What is it that is gone, that thou canst speak 
No more? that thy fond eyes are cold and still? 
Which e'er as I came home, were wont to seek 
My face. Where gone thy smile that used to fill 
My heart with rapture as I, warm or chill. 
Led homeward from the pastures; where the smile 
That taught me all I know of good and ill 
And love; that I bore with me many a mile, 
Hid in my heart, thro' mountain-meadow and defile? 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 9 

XII. 
"I tho't I loved thee well; but now I feel 
I only loved thee half; canst thou be near! 
Where is that other self of thee, the real? 
For 'tis not thou I see in this severe 
And rigid form; only a vision leer! 
But where the something that I cannot name: 
The vision that I see no more, nor hear? 
That sparkle in thine eyes ihat went and came, 
That force and warmth of love that thrilled thy frame? 

XIII. 

"Is that, too, dead? Can Life be lost in Death? 
And what is life and what is Death? And where 
Is He that made them? He that fused the breath 
Into these lips? I tho't, or dreamed the air, 
One day, upon its pulsing wings did bear 
Insinuations of a Power too deep 
To be ought less than everlasting heir 
To all that is or has been: strong to keep 
Eternal watch o'er all that wakes or is asleep. 



10 CHRISTMAS EVE. 

XIV. 

"I tho't — and could it be only a dream? 
I tho't the mountains and the air and sky, 
The trees, the birds among the trees, the stream, 
All breathed a song of ecstacy on high. 
I heard: it melted into me till I 
Became transformed; within me as without 
Was something more than human; ear and eye 
Alone performed their functions; then, a shout, 
A chorus of a million voices seemed to wrap me about. 

XV. 

"My heart leapt in me. Bliss and mystery! 
I loved! And felt that I was loved and more. 
My soul grew boundless as the swelling sea. 
Encompassing the earth; I did adore! 
And grander than my own, broad as the floor 
Of heaven, streamed Love of all things — infinite! 
And seemed it must be so for evermore. 
It was about me; I was lost in it. 
And must it like a dream into the darkness flit? 



CHRISTMAS EVE 11 

XVI. 

"If this be so, then must all creatures weep: 
Be there no power of Love between the earth 
And man, and man and sky, then must ye keep 
With me continual mourning; and no mirth 
Forever know; but an eternal dearth 
Of joy shall be your portion, oh, ye hills. 
Ye fountains, and sweet fields and birds! and birth 
A mimic mocker>. Then must the rills 

Of heaven open wide and weep for her own ills." 

XVIL 

He ceased; and the sad sound of his own words 
Struck maddening terror to his stricken heart. 
A spirit led him forth; and where the herds 
Had fed for many a summer day, the smart 
Of his fresh wound choking his breath, the dart 
Firm in his side, he flees by winding ways 
Familiar to his feet. Yet does he start 
And, like some guileless, timid thing that strays. 
His stealthy steps at his more stealthy shadow stays. 



12 CHRISTMAS EVE. 

XVIII. 
Thro' winding dells whose silence is disturbed 
Alone by the swift echoes of his feet; 
Or, by the bank of torrents whose uncurbed 
And fitful fury to his ear seems sweet 
As rest and shadow from the noon-day heat 
Of summer sun, he goes; and in his brain 
The fever keeps apace with the quick beat 
Of his wild steps, A hissing hurricane 
Of tho't drags him on in the turmoil of its train. 

XIX. 
Evening came on; and thro' the solemn aisles 
Of a deep wood he wandered; all the trees 
Were bare; and thro' the long winding files 
Of rocks and gnarled boughs the plaintive breeze 
Moaned sadly, like those calm and piteous seas 
That break forever on a barren strand. 
Remote the wan moon rises by degrees 
And sheds its cold light on the lonely land, 
And on the shepherd's burning brow and chilling 
hand. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 13 

XX. 

The covetous hours run on — dayh'ght and dark — 
Until upon an eve the growing gloom 
Slackened the fury of his pain; the spark 
That lent strength to his languid limbs gave room 
To weakness — and he swooned. And like a tomb 
The night-wind built with the sere leaves 
A couch for him. He sleeps; and on the loom 
Of dreams, young memory with fancy weaves 
About his heart her woof till it forgets to grieve. 

XXL 

His father stood, of radiant face and form, 
With consolation on his lips, and bade 
Him leave the uncultured wild and seek a place 
Among the haunts of men; then did he fade 
And the first light of day faintly arrayed 
The wood and mountains in reviving hope; 
And daintily upon his leaf-bed played. 
He rose and, in the waters that elope 
From fountains, bathed his brow; then followed down 
the slope. 



14 CHRISTMAS EVE. 

XXII. 

In many a narrow vale and deep ravine 
The slumbering echoes at his steps awoke; 
And many a timid hare, scared at a mien 
More innocent than her own, the frail grass broke 
Beneath her anxious feet. Of leaves of oak 
Or sycamore with tender hands he made 
His bed at eve; and oftentimes he spoke 
To his own questionings. At last he strayed 
To a broad stream that yielded to a sinuous glade. 

XXIII. 
He finds an unmoored shallop by the shore, 
Whose chinked and withered sides can scarce 

sustam 
The weight of their decay; the fragile oar 
He takes and glides out o'er the rippling plain. 
Swift flows the stream; the night-wind blows amain; 
The boat, like spirit-craft before the sweep 
Of spirit-wind, drives on; in the blue main 
Above, alternately, the sun and wan stars keep 
Continual watch, beacons of an eternal deep. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 15 

XXIV. 

It chanced upon the holy Christmas eve: 
He sought the shelter of a lone chalet. 
A father and a maiden fair receive 
The way-worn guest. In good old fashioned way 
The eve is kept with rites unto the day 
To come, in memory of the Christmas morn 
Long centuries ago; a sacred lay 
The maiden sang, and in the shepherd's lorn 
And wasted heart, as the old man prayed, a hope was 

born. 

XXV. 
The ecstacy that he had learned from streams 
And mountains, and the sun's warm light, 
The expectation of his skyward dreams 
Were realized: to her sublimest height 
His spirit rose, and by a mystic flight 
He stood once more before a sky-crowned peak. 
Again loving and lovable and bright. 
The cloud-caps drifting thro' the blue bespeak 
That Love; in it commune all creatures, strong or 

weak. 



16 CHRISTMAS EVE. 

XXVI. 

And was it strange he prayed that night to die? 
And was it strange the prayer, his first, was heard? 
That Christmas morn rose in a cheerful sky; 
Among the leafless boughs the slight wind stirred; 
The morning piping of the last sweet bird 
Greeted the day; a peace was in the air, 
And joy o'er all; but never voice could word 
The unsung joy those smiling lips declare, 
Free from all touch of earth, fair as the heavens are 
fair. 



EVENING ON THE OHIO. 

The slow sun sinks beneath the edge 
Of day, where earth and sky He locked 
In fond embrace; from peak and ledge 
The last light leaps; a silent throng, 
The shadows gathering steal along 
In dark procession up the hills 
On the Kentucky shore, and rocked 
Upon a sea of waving green 
They glide still on and up to flee 
And mingle with the far unseen; 
A fragment of infinity. 

The silent river drops from rills 
That lie concealed beyond the veil 



18 EVENING ON THE OHIO. 

Of mystery that twilight weaves 

Athwart the lessening intervale 

From earth to heaven, and flows in peace 

More gentle than the wave of leaves 

Awhile the winds for respit cease. 

And now a bark majestic rides 

Out of the mist; its steady light 

Streams on before appareling 

The waters in a calm delight. 

Astern a little tremor glides 

Along the surface, altering 

The stillness of its placid mien. 

Calmly imposing and serene 

The craft unswerving passes down 

Beyond the grove and harbor-bar, 

The shrouded wharf and silent town, 

And in the distance faints away 

As faints the morning star 

Or spirit to eternity. 



EVENING ON THE OHIO. 19 

A sacred peace reigns over all 

The scene, and through the stillness come 

The throbbings of the Nature-heart 

With magic power to purge away 

The dross of life until there fall 

The fleshy curtains from the soul, 

And it, released and dumb, 

Forgetting how to pray, 

Yet stands in adoration 

Of the Power that made it. 



IN CITY CREEK CANYON. 

Childlike I lie upon the springing grass 

'J'hat rims the road along the canyon slope, 

And watch the silver-tolded cloud-caps pass 

In silent majesty across a sea 

Of half- transparent blue: a purity 

So pure that its reflection makes the earth 

More free from all but truth and love, 

And turns my wandering thoughts 

Back to the happy day that gave me birth: 

For so I count the hour that brought the dove 

Of life and fused into my limbs a length 

Of days sufficient to behold this hour. 

To contemplate these symbols of the Power 

That raised to form these ever-ancient hills 



IN CITY CREEK CANYON. 21 

And all with purpose and with pleasure fills, 
Were a sufficient prize for living. 

Softly the green turf melts away 

To the low edge that hems the stream. 

The sprightly waters stealing in and out 

Among the many windings, splash and spray 

The leaves that overhang in mid-day dream; 

O'erspread the stones with silken softness, shout 

And sing an ever-varied melody, 

And of their singing never weary; gay 

And noisy in their unremitting glee 

They wander on as they have done forever. 

The grape of Oregon, about the spot. 

Raise modestly their amorous yellow heads; 

And blushing for its own deep loveliness 

Amidst the grass the wild sweet William sheds 

Its tender beauty, or the wild sweet pea, 

The buttercup or frail forget- me not. 

The wind relenting hovers with the bee 



22 IX CITY CREEK CANYON. 

For one short moment, bending to caress 
Their dainty lips, and drunk with love of them 
Loses itself amidst their fragrant fragileness. 
Until a thrill vibrate each lithesome stem. 

Beyond the stream a giant mass of rock 
Rises far as the eye can skim the air, 
And pillars up with many a massive block 
Of ancient stone the vaulted arch of heaven. 
Silent and stern its wrinkled mien doth stare 
fJard down upon im like a Roman god; 
Across its furrowed features coldly run 
The characters of ages, characters 
Revealing deep how Nature's works are done 
By her unnumbered ministers, 
That were ere day was made a name 
And fashioned from the night; ere life became 
On land and in the air and ageless seas; 
The awful characters of Time's mysterious 
And measured march through centuries; 



IN CITY CREEK CANYON. 23 

Strange symbols that foretell the future 
From the past, the story of eternity. 

Calmly the day is dying, and a peace 
That lives with nature only, everywhere 
Is breathed by the unseen spirits of the air; 
The low blue sky enriched with many a fleece 
Of snowy whiteness settles round the peaks 
A little closer, that with jagged arms 
Support it; hushed, too, are the trembling leaves 
Of aged tree and wanton weed, fit charms 
For noon-day bee and evening whip-poor-will; 
The flowers bend their daint)' heads with cheeks 
Aflush to bid farewell to the faint day; 
A while the old sun smiles upon the grass 
That rims the narrow marge with mellow ray, 
Clambers the rocky steepness to the edge 
That is the first to greet the seething dawn, 
There hovers for a moment and is gone. 



24 IN CITY CREEK CANYON. 

No voice of bird charms the entranced air, 
And yet the very stillness seems to chant 
An unheard requiem to the day, and there 
Are strains more sweet by far than ever wind 
Hath wafted to the ear from harp or lyre 
Touched by a human, hand; a visitant 
Unseen bears them upon her trembling wings 
Straight from the ethereal lute of Silence, shrined 
In twilight shades of wooded aisle and spire; 
And audible to the inward ear alone, 
She breathes her deep mute music, and the end 
And the beginning into one strain blend: 
Which is life, love and immortality. 



THE SKY SEEMS DESOLATE. 

The sky seems desolate to-day; 
The birds that fly across the grey 
An evil portent seem to bring 
To me, with heavy-flapping wing; 
The piping of the wren is wrought 
With melancholy; winds have caught 
The plaintive pulsings of the sea; 
Even the overbrimming glee 
Of brook and spring is blent 
With murmurings of discontent; 
The sun, the old untiring sun, 
Seems weary of the task begun 
This morn, and toils across the sky 
As if his pathway were too high, 



2f> THE SKY SEEMS DESOLATE. 

Or he had lost a friend, 

Or sought a too far-distant end. 

Yet Sergius sings with keen dehght; 

To him the day is pure and bright 

As ever day might be; 

A gaysome minstrelsy 

Reigns over all; the very streets 

Are redolent with flowery sweets, 

Like fields in May. 

A happy chance befell 

Him yesterday; 

I bade a hope farewell. 



* 



COULD I BUT SING. 

Could I but sing as the old earth has sung 

For centuries; could I but catch among 

Her wild ethereal melodies one note 

Of minor chord, of those that ceaseless float 

Thro' forest-aisle and evening-tinctured sky, 

Or feel the pathos of a wave's deep sigh, 

Or reach one wonder of a cloudlet's fold, 

One wonder of the tiny waves of gold 

That float above the far horizon's rim 

And fill the world up to its shelving brim, 

One growing wonder of the smallest flower 

That e'er lent fragrance to a summer bower; 

Could I but catch one woodland strain 

From the wild wind that wanders thro' the plain. 



28 COULD I BUT SING. 

With sweetest music for a lover's ear, 
From dawning till the closing year, 
Or tell one beauty of the leaf of grass 
That bends to hear the mountain waters pass; 
Thro' time the liquidy should roll along 
And teach mankind the potency of song. 



IN HARVEST TIME. 

It was a day in harvest-time, 

And as I wandered thro' the fields 

Of yellow grain, some softly waved 

Beneath the mild caresses of the wind; 

Some was in fresh lain swathes; 

And some lay bound in mellow sheaves- 

Oh, the mysterious work of time! 

Oh, the creative Love in sun! 

Oh, the enlivening Power in rain! 

Only a few short months ago 

The seeds were scattered on the ground; 

The little blades sprang to the light 

And grew, perfected in the ear; 

And now the harvest fully ripe! 



:M) in harvest time. 

I tho't and wandered on once more, 

And found stretched out to rest 

Upon the prostrate grain, his scythe close by, 

The mower spent with heat and toil. 

His face was thin and wrinkled much. 

Grey were his hair and beard with age. 

Weary with age and toil, I tho't, 

And at the tho't my heart grew sad. 

"To live on this fair earth is sweet, 

And youth is full of happiness. 

Then why must wc each one grow old?" 

Into the far-off skies I cried. 

My eyes fell on the ripened grain, 

And read reply: because the harvest 

Is better than the growing grain. 



# 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

"Leaving thine outgrovvii shell by life's unresting sea.'' 
— Chamlered Nautilus. 

Weep, weep! yet wherefore should we weep? 

Why weep that yonder bark be quit? 

For such a voyager unfit, 

To bear him longer o'er the deep. 

Why weep that with a sturdy oar 
A long successful voyage is past, 
And he has beached his boat at last 
Beyond the breakers, safe on shore. 

Mid storm or calm, no flood-tide swells 
Upon the farther shore of life 
But into port, with deathless strife, 
Some wandering voyager impels. 

With steady arm and eye serene, 

Not every sailor steers his bark, 

With one clear star to quell the dark 

And guide him through the strange demesne. 



32 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

With tattered sail or splintered mast 
Or with a piece of broken oar, 
Some struggling in the waves gain shore. 
With pain; but all put in at last. 

Then cease lament, for nought has failed: 
He lives beyond the reach of fate; 
And nought lies lone and desolate 
Save the frail craft in which he sailed. 



AUTUMN NOTES. 

Oh fair, oh sweet, uh lovely autumn-time ! 
To clothe thy beauties in a fitting rhyme 
Were not so frail a task: for never spring 
With all the mirth that birds and bushes bring 
Was half so fair in dress, or form, or tho't as thee: 
In love or minstrelsy. 

No fragile buds are bursting in the copse, 
No green clothes the rough mountain tops; 
But crowned with might and majesty they rise 
In fellowship with closer bending skies. 
The sun, no longer fierce, shines with a mellow ray, 
More friendly than in May. 



34 AUTUMN NOTES. 

The life they live more deeply to be seen 
Than when 'tis mantled in deceptive green, 
That thrills from barren peak to flowery glen, 
Reveals relationship 'twixt them and men: 
A bond to bind us to the earth that we have trod, 
And lift us unto God. 

The brook runs purer o'er its rocky bed. 
Past the wild coverts whence the birds have fled; 
And calmly its contented chatter steals 
More faint and far, in sweeter, swifter peals, 
Unmixed with ought impure, and sinks into the soul. 
Fleet as the waters roll. 

No sullen visions of a wasted life, 
No plaintive whisperings of a fruitless strife. 
As one has lately muttered in my ear, 
And no insinuations of a fear 
Thftt life may ever end in death my heart receives 
From the discolored leaves. 



AUTUMN NOTES. 35 

All things breathe faith in immortality; 
In Love that ever was and ever is to be. 
It flows from every song or sound that brakes, 
And fruitful melodies that silence wakes; 
And life and death, and tho't, and sound and silence 
blend 

In one eternal trend. 



SONG OF AUTUMN. 

1 come on the wings of the South-wind; 

On the wings of the South and East; 
I tarry in forest and meadow, 

And spread out my harvest-feast. 

I am Life, I am Death, and Harvest, 
The Soul of the Summer and Sprmg, 

The end of their budding and blooming, 
Of the Months and the Years 1 am King. 

My coffers are full; I give freely 
To the strong and the weak as well: 

To man, and the birds of the meadow, 
The squirrel and fox in the dell. 



SONG OF AUTUMN. 

For mine are the barley and wheat fields, 
The apples of red and green, 

The chestnuts of brown on the hilltops, 
7'he fields of corn between. 

For me grapes in purple clusters 
Hang low on the rustic vine; 

And orchards of pears and peaches 
Their garlanded heads incline. 

I bring unto all a blessing 

From inland lake to the sea; 
I strew the highlands with plenty, 

The valleys I fill with glee. 

No dingle may lie so hidden 

That / do not spy it out, 
And fill with the wealih of my treasures 

Each distant and secret redoubt. 



3S SONG OF AUTUMN. 

For all countries are my dominionSj 
From pole to equator and pole; 

And my coursers are swift as the light'nings 
To bear me from goal to goal. 

My thanks are often but curses, 

Yet still do I wander on; 
And gladly bestow my bounties 

Till my wealth is vanished and gone; 

Then I flee on the wings of the North-wind, 
On the wings of the North and West; 

And leave to the keeping of Winter 
The lands that I have blest. ' 



SOWN. 

The fruit-laden winds of the autumn blew 
And two small seeds to a flower-plot threw, 
Then buried them deep on the lifeless ground 
With all the dead leaves and stems to be found. 

Then the hoar-frost came and the sleet and snow, 
And over the garden did reveling go; 
But the seeds slept on in their rose-leaf bed 
Until the winter was up and fled, 

And then they sprang forth in the morning light, 

And drank their fill from the tears of night, 

Till their young leaves swelled with the breath of 

spring 
As it filled the world in its wandering. 



40 SOWN. 

One of them grew enriched with the dower 
And promise of being a perfect flower, 
Enjoying the blessings it each day won 
From the gentle rain and the patient sun. 

The petals blew open at last to the air 
Laying its beautiful breast all bare, 
Upholding its love to each panting breeze 
That lingered to whisper its tender pleas. 

Not a soul ever passed the flower by 
But felt the joy of its presence nigh. 
.\nd the bees that lodged on its slender tips 
Instilled the dew from its lovely lips. 

f3ut there entered the garden a hand one day, 
And plucked the blossoms and bore them away 
To cheer with their beauty and sweet perfume 
The weary hours of a sick child's room. 



SOWN. 41 

But others sprang up in the vacant place 
And filled it full with their radiant grace; 
Yet the plant gave cheerfully all it had 
To make the heart of the young child glad. 

A blessing to earth was this little flower, 
So pure and so gentle, so great in its power, 
As long as the summer gave to it breath, 
And then it folded its leaves in death. 

But, alas, the other and comlier seed 
Developed to be but an ugly weedj 
All cumbrous and dank and worthless and tall,. 
It thrust out its branches unloved of all. 

It drank up the rain and the morning dew, 
And the sunshine out of the heavens blue; 
Yet it only cumbered the ground where it stood, 
lU-shapen and poisonous, void of all good. 



LOVE LIES A-COLD. 

In the cool garden closes, 
Where summer and care 
Have wrought beauty so rare; 

Where the perfume of roses 
Is spent on the air; 
With a reticent glare, 

The soft sunshine reposes 
On the bright-blown flowers 
For hours upon hours. 

Not a breath stirs the willows, 
That border the stream, 
From their mid-day dream; 

And the slow swelling billows 



LOVE LIES A-COLD. 43 

Are gathering each beam 
From the sun, with a gleam 
On the sea as it pillows 
The shallops and skiffs 
Beyond the clear cliffs. 

But the day shall shiver 

And die ere a sound 

Stir a leaf from the ground, 
Or a voice wake a quiver 

From the park to the mound, 

Save the baying hound 
Or the tremulous river; 

For Love lies a-cold 

In the castle old. 

From the night till the morning, 

From morning till night. 

When the last lonesome light 
Fills the sky with its warning 



44 LOVE LIES A-COLI). 

Of day's damask flight, 
Neither lady nor knight, 
The frail flowers scorning, 
Shall pluck a red rose 
From the garden's close. 

And the bright breath of summer 
Shall pass into fall; 
And the confident call 

Of the busy-winged hummer 
Shall cease from the wall 
Where the woodbines crawl; 

Nor the steps of the comer 
Of the now dead days 
Shall quicken the ways. 

The grey gates shall crumble 

And turn into sand, 

But never a hand 
Or a finger shall humble 



LOVE LIES A-COLD. 45 

Itself to withstand 
The decay, till it brand 
All the walls, and they tumble 
And turn into clay. 
For year and for day. 

And the flowers, forsaken, 

May wither and die: 

For the wind shall sigh, 
And the branches be shaken; 

But never a cry. 

Or a tear to the eye, 
Shall it startle or waken: 

For Love lies a-cold 

In the castle old. 

So the years shall wither 

By months and by days, 

From Mays unto Mays; 
And the sails flee thither, 



46 LOVE LIES A-COLD. 

O'er the watery ways, 
From yonder bleak bays, 
Where the moon and with her 
The timid stars shme 
On the barren sea-brine; 

And from father this story 
Of love to the son 
Shall descend; and none 

Shall forget the old glory, 
Till the sand be run 
From his glass; or the sun 

And the stars grow hoary, 
And be not the lights 
Of the days and nights. 

But the castle and garden 
Of days then long dead, 
Awhile love was shed 

O'er the walls that guard on 



LOVE LIES A-COLD. 47 

The west, shall be wed 
To waste, and each bed 
To a stone shall harden: 
For Love lies a- cold 
In the castle old. 



AT EVEN-TIDE. 

The western sky in crimson dyed 

Sinks softly o'er the earth's dark breast, 
Shedding abroad a Hngering rest, 
At even-tide. 

The shadows climb the mountainside 
One after one with solemn pace, 
As if aspiring into space, 

At even-tide. 

How listlesi.ly the light boats glide 
Reflected in the gleaming mere, 
While the lone heron hovers near, 
At even-tide. 



AT EVEN-TIDE. 49 

And ere the vesper chimes have died 

The monk's low hymn, the chant, the prayer, 
Rise trembling on the darkening air, 
At even-tide. 

The sated flocks lie down beside 

The fold, and their meek spirits blend 
With nature in the day's mild end, 
At even-tide. 

The brown bright thrushes sing and hide; 
A sigh is echoed from the hill; 
A star shines out and all is still. 
At even-tide. 



PEGNO D'AFFETTO. 

I lay these roses at thy feet, love, 

Content to lay them there 
If only you may breathe their sweet, love, 

Or place one in your hair. 

But crush and bruise them if you will, love, 

Their fragrance is more sweet, 
And bruised and broken they will still, love. 

Lie pleading at thy feet. 

And so I freely lay chis heart, love, 

A suppliant at thy feet, 
But if to crush it be your part, love, 

'Twill only plead more sweet. 



TIME. 

The clock of time has sounded 
From the belfry-tower of space: 

Its silent echoes falling, 

Steal on with a mystic pace. 

The clock ticks on, on ever 

The same quaint tick as before, 

And the leaves of the future rustle 
As they have done of yore. 

The future is but the present, 
The present is but the past. 

And that lies in the boundless 
Always to live and last. 



THE POET'S PRAYER. 

O kindly Nature, thou who sovereign art 
And kindred of my being, bend to resign 
One jealous-guarded mystery of thine; 

One simple token of thy favor dart 

Amidst the longings of a wistful heart; 
O let me worship at thy inmost shrine 
Until I feel thy holy life is mine 

And find in thee a glorious counterpart: 

Then shall ray minstrelsy be ever free. 
And all unheard I'll sing in solitude 

The rural music of simplicity, 

And mingle my faint pipings with the stream 
That chatters by, content if understood 

By thee and thine, unenvious of esteem. 



SONNET. 

Over this brink the waters ever pour 

From healthy morn unto thoughtful eve, 

And through the lingering night till daybreak weave 

Again the sun-light on the grassy shore, 

In many a daring stream of swollen store, 
Where a small lake bounds eager to receive 
Them to its breast; and still without reprieve 

It whispers, and the caverns echo: more. 

So, tender Nature, do I long for thee; 

Although a thousand varied streams of truth 
I ever drank of thee from my first youth, 

From brook and cliff, from cloud and cerul sea, 
Still is my thirst too deep to satisfy 
And, thus, too deep it shall be till I die. 



EXPECTATION. 

Sometimes I've seen from some far-distant hill, 
Appareled in the glory of the dawn 
When first she smiles upon the dripping lawn, 

A little stream drop down with many a rill 

Of such delicious sparkle that a thrill 

Transfixed my benig, and ere the spell had gone 
Bound out beneath my feet and on where yawn 

The mighty deeps that nought can drain or fill. 

So I have dreamed ethereal dreams 
Ot what should be upon a distant day, 

The future lending color to the schemes, 
But soon, too soon, the visions died away — 

A present unfulfilled, and then, at last, 

Faint murmurs on the ocean of the past. 



XI 07 















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